


The Minotaur

by strawberrykait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Curses, Explicit Language, Gen, Memory Alteration, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Post - Half-Blood Prince, Psychological Trauma, Trapped, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The roar of the beast was closer this time, and panic returned. It was not the same as what had been after her, which was frightening all the same. No devil here was better than any, known or unknown. Malfoy clutched her harder, painfully, until her whimpers ceased. Her eyes bulged as she watched from between the trembling branches for whatever it was chasing them to appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> Story Notes: Inspired by the Hawthorn & Vine Treasured Tropes prompt #136, “The Minotaur,” by MissWillowbella.
> 
> Beta(s): McCargi.

Hermione ran as hard and as fast as she could through the shifting maze, her hands flung out before her, reaching, feeling the way. She had a small head start that wouldn’t last long, she knew, when her body was so weak from hunger and fatigue, and the creatures that pursued were so much stronger, much faster. Nevertheless, the will to live vibrated through her muscles, her heart, giving her strength and balance to _go_.

The darkness was deep. Hardly any moonlight shone down through this area, which made running all the more dangerous, the light-coloured stones reflecting what little they could. It was the shadows that worried her as she ran, what could be lurking, watching her. Waiting for her. The yowls and screeches, though, that grew louder as they neared, urged her ever on, hoping, hoping to find some sanctuary. After endless turns and corridors, the stone began to change, becoming darker, denser. Her fingers felt the prick of thorns and instinctively retracted against her chest. Blood seeped from the tips of a few and she quickly sucked on them. It wouldn’t do to leave a blood trail.

Her adrenaline was waning, the muscles protesting against such drive. Soon she would collapse. She had to find a way out, or at least some place to hide. Hermione frantically scanned the passage, all the while listening. The sounds of charging feet and hooves could not be heard, nor the shrieks from before, but that was small comfort. For all she knew, the creatures could be directly behind the next turn. 

Or, possibly ahead.

She held her breath as she neared the edge of another corner, as she usually did. Her heart pounded so loudly, she wondered if it did any good, but she was moving by instinct alone now, working her way through the endless maze, fearful of what she would find. There was no name for what chased her, for they were like nothing she had ever seen before. Horrible, eel-like beings with glowing blue eyes, two horns and legs like a rhinoceros, and at least two rows of razor-sharp teeth protruding. She had been careless, that’s how she found herself in the nest of the monsters, who shrieked, piercing and shrill, their crests expanding around their heads as they charged. She was damned lucky to have come this far. 

Slowly, her ragged fingers stretched out to touch the stone wall before her, her arm trembling violently. When the exposed, mutilated skin of her broken nail beds made contact with the grit, she cringed, biting down on her lips to keep the moan from escaping, but doing nothing to stop the tears that tracked down her cheeks through grime and dried blood. Hermione paused, allowing the pain to subside and hoping her heartbeat would slow, as ridiculous as it seemed. 

She couldn’t remember how long she’d been trapped, nor how long since she’d had anything more than bones upon which to suck and nibble, desperate for anything close to nourishment. Whenever she was lucky enough to find something edible, she quickly scarfed it down, crawling backwards and low, keeping a watchful eye out. 

Her earliest memories had been of others, the men and one woman she had seen, traveling through the maze with grim determination. Desperately she followed, believing together they would be safe, could find a way out of the labyrinth, but she had been very, very wrong. 

Hermione had approached a trailing man, desperate to know where they were, how they had gotten here, but it was useless. Most only stared at her blankly before scurrying away. One man from the small group attacked her, and she had to run and hide. There was something awfully wrong with the people, something she had not seen until they were snarling in her face. Their eyes were empty, dark. They were nothing more than zombies now and were almost as bad as the other things that crawled and slithered through the labyrinth.

She stopped approaching anybody after she came across a man eating the remains of what looked like another man, his arms drenched in the too-bright blood of the body, long pieces of meat squelching in his mouth as he chewed. She stared, aghast at the sight, her brain refusing to process what exactly she was witnessing, focusing instead on the eyes of the dead man, who seemed to stare back, begging for her help. 

Her stomach had actually growled. Out of shame at her base needs, Hermione couldn’t eat for a day.

With a small shake of her head, she left the memory behind and focused on getting around the corner. Her heart hammering in her chest, her eyes wide and bulging, she crept forward on the balls of her bare, scabby feet. The labyrinth was dark and cold during the night, with deep shadows spreading out from every hidden corner. The stone walls were nearly twenty meters high, many grown over with unidentifiable vines and foliage, as well as Devil’s Snare and Tentacula, neither of which she wanted to ever encounter again. Fortunately, both were easily identifiable from a distance in the daylight, and when no other option was available, she proceeded with care. And a rather large stick. This wall, however, was bare and chilling to the touch. Despite the cold, sweat dribbled down into the small of her back, wetting her ragged shift and making her that much cooler. She longed for a pool of water to clean herself and find a modicum of relief from all this filth. She longed to leave, full stop.

Hermione took several calming breaths, gaining control of her heart once more, before she pressed forward around the corner. She immediately wished she’d gone another way. A nightmare loomed before her, much taller than she, and broad shouldered, lurching towards her, fisting her shift in one large hand and tugging her up against his hulking body. His eyes shone white in the darkness. Her heart stopped. In his left hand was some sort of weapon, jabbing up into her chin, forcing her head up and back. There was no time to scream or run away. A small noise gurgled up in her throat, and as it did, her captor yanked harder on her, silencing her with pain. Her heart leapt into her throat, effectively choking her. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to see what would come next. 

“Gruh.” The man’s voice was ragged and harsh, as unused as her own, but at least it was human. The tension in her back lessened as his stick pulled back. “Granger?”

Hermione’s eyes blinked open. She wasn’t dead, not yet, anyway. Immediately her heart went into overdrive, pumping so much blood past her ears that she was certain she imagined hearing her name. When her captor released his hold on her shift, she slumped to the ground, spent. Clutching her chest, heaving the oxygen in and out in great big breaths, she gazed up at the man in complete shock.

“Malfoy,” she whispered, unbelieving. At least he might have been Malfoy at one time. The person poised above her was more beast than man, it seemed. Just as she, he was almost unrecognizable beneath the filth and grime of living exposed in the elements. His white-blond hair was dingy, hanging in matted clumps around his face and down to his shoulders. Yellow teeth were visible through the scruff of an unkempt beard, which was a darker shade of blond and just as dirty as the rest of him. Through all the dirt, a black mar on his arm stood out sharply – a snaked coiled, rearing up through the mouth of a skull. The Dark Mark. So, Harry had been right all along, she thought. Even so, the Dark Mark made little difference in a place like this, at this very moment. It was indeed Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and miscreant, and as Hermione lay sprawled on the ground at his feet, she could not decide if that was a good thing or not. When compared to the eel-beasts, it was definitely an improvement.

They stared at one another for a long moment, neither uttering a sound beyond their heaving breaths, until a distant shriek echoed around them. Instantly, Malfoy crouched lower to the ground, his wand extended towards the noise of the mysterious beast. Hermione’s eyes lit up. He had a _wand_! They could Apparate out of this horrid place, straightaway. She only had to convin – “Wait!”

Before she could scramble to her feet, Malfoy disappeared. Frantically, she got up and ran in the direction she had been headed, desperate to keep up with the savage man. The scabs on her feet broken open and she could feel the cracks surge as the dirt packed in. He may be a Malfoy, but he was the closest she’d come to hope in Merlin knew how long. Chasing him was more arduous than she could have imagined, unfortunately. Every few steps, she tripped on broken slate and crashed into a wall or to the ground, narrowly escaping Bubotubers, slipping in their pus. Hermione cried out, feeling the nerves in her feet explode. Hot, searing pain spread through her palms where she’d landed as the boils began to bloom. 

Ignoring everything else, Hermione rushed up and continued, not daring to call his name. She only prayed that she would find him before whatever had made that noise found either of them. The sharp pain in her chest returned as she ran, panting loudly, shallowly. She was quick to tire and her fears flooded in from the recesses, threatening to take her over once more. Her knees gave out and she collapsed, crying.

Suddenly, a hand pressed against her mouth from behind, tugging her back into a shadowy nook, beneath a Flutterby bush. She moaned and her captor clutched her tighter, closer, urging her to be silent. Hermione’s tears slowed on her face, a few slipping over the fingers of her captor’s hand. Against her chest, she could feel the long wood of his wand and was slightly relieved to know it was Malfoy, who snatched her up, rather than someone, or something, else. 

The roar of the beast was closer this time, and panic returned. It was not the same as what had been after her, which was frightening all the same. No devil here was better than any, known or unknown. Malfoy clutched her harder, painfully, until her whimpers ceased. Her eyes bulged as she watched from between the trembling branches for whatever it was chasing them to appear. It was quick thinking on Malfoy’s part, she decided, to hide within this bush. His hot breath panted near her face, the smell something awful, but his pounding heart begin to slow against her rigid back. After a moment, when nothing appeared to be following them, his grip loosened, but she did not pull away, too fearful that he would run off and leave her again. Instead, she grasped the hand covering her mouth, gently tugging it down and away and threading her fingers into his. Malfoy, thankfully, did not resist.

In an instant, Hermione was unceremoniously dropped on her arse. However, he remained hiding with her, no longer staring out into the labyrinth but rather directly at her. Malfoy had turned savage, there was little question about that, yet somehow he had kept his wand. He apparently knew it was of some value, too, or else it would not be aimed at her now. Hermione took a few deep breaths, gathering her wits, such as they were, before she appealed to her former classmate.

She lowered her head, not meeting his gaze, recalling lessons Hagrid had given in supplication. Her deference seemed to be working, as she noticed Malfoy relax. Still, she had to be careful. Panic rose in her chest. She had nothing to offer him, nothing at all, not even food. This was never going to work. Glancing up at him under her lashes, she noted that he was watching her with curiosity. There was only one thing for it, she decided. 

In a small, husky voice, Hermione pleaded. “Help me.” She swallowed, then added, “Please.”

Malfoy’s eyes seemed to shine in the dark, and then just as suddenly, they darkened. He shifted to his feet and Hermione’s hand darted towards his arm, preventing him from abandoning her. They struggled for a moment, but soon Malfoy acquiesced with a derisive snort, yanking his arm free of her. She waited, and eventually Malfoy found his voice.

“Why should I, Mudblood?” he questioned slowly. “You’re nothing but a hindrance. Fodder for the beasts.”

She couldn’t help it. Honestly, she couldn’t. When finally another human being, one that she knew from before, actually responded to her, the questions simply burst forth like a broken dam. 

“Where are we, Malfoy? What is this place? How is it you still have your wand? Can you get us out of here? Have you tried to Apparate yet? What _were_ those _things_ chasing us? Wait, where are you going?”

Hermione scrambled out of the bush after him, quickly grabbing a hold of his right arm, despite Malfoy’s glare and tug to free himself. He shoved her against the nearest wall, just barely out of reach of the yearning vines of a Tentacula, keeping her in place with the length of his arm against her neck. Malfoy snarled down into her face, more animal than man, like she had found him. Hermione tried to not struggle, but so much of her life now relied on instinct. She kept one eye on the plant and another on him. 

“We can save each other,” she said quietly, turning her complete focus to him. Astonishment replaced the anger in Malfoy, and he let her go. They stood together in the dim moonlight for a moment, before he turned toward a passage, seemingly without consideration. When he did not object to her following him, Hermione began to feel a small fire light within her chest. Hope.

*

Malfoy led her blindly through the labyrinth, as though it were nothing of interest or any threat whatsoever. She stayed close behind him, close enough to grab a hold of what once had been trousers that now hung loosely off his jutting hipbones. His wand was shoved into the waistband, somehow not slipping free. He never carries it, she noticed, not even to light the way, and she wonders at this.

Soon, though, he turned to look at her, his brow creased in thought. Then, as if he had finally come to a decision, Malfoy pulled back the low branches of a willow tree, which had grown within the stone wall, to reveal a dark cave. Hesitantly, she entered, leaving herself vulnerable to Malfoy in every possible way.

The cave was practically bare, with only a few rudimentary items Malfoy had apparently collected or constructed to meet his needs. It was surprisingly warm within, almost humid, and it made her skin crawl. Hermione was surprised to smell neither sick nor mess, but she shook the idea away as ridiculous. No creature, no matter how damaged, would defecate where it slept, and it was quiet obvious that Malfoy had been here for some time. 

Hermione still wasn’t sure how long she had been stuck within the labyrinth. She had tried to count the days as they passed, but the only possession she had that could mark the passage of time was a piece of limestone. When she had found shelter the first night within the labyrinth, she used the stone to draw a small line against the nearest wall, low to the ground. Believing herself clever, she then took the stone with her to further track her passage through the maze, knowing she could follow her marks back to the limited protection of her refuge. 

What she did not expect, however, was that the labyrinth would transform its own walls, folding in and swelling out, eradicating her marks and completely confusing her. 

It was when she realized that the labyrinth was a sentient being, capable of cruelty and manipulation, rampant with its own vile monsters, that she resolved that making it out alive was far more important than marking time spent. Now, in Malfoy’s cave, she noticed that he had not bothered to mark the days, as she would have done, had she been here first. Hermione continued to gaze about his cave, wishing for more light. As it was, the sun was just beginning to lighten the skies beyond the labyrinth, and she could just make out silhouettes of small items within. 

Malfoy pulled the willow down to conceal the entrance, blocking out the meagre light, and moved towards her. Quickly, she flattened herself against the wall, allowing him to pass her, but he did not. Instead, he stood across from her, watching. Somehow, through the layers of filth and grime and sweat, despite all the horrible things she had seen while trapped in this hellish maze, despite the many disgusting things Hermione had had to do out of sheer necessity and will to live, Draco Malfoy staring at her like that made her rather subconscious about her appearance. She felt the heat suffuse her cheeks and neck and wished he would move on past her or, at the very least, look away, but he did neither. Instead, Malfoy leaned back against the opposite wall and slid down, still watching her. After a moment, she did the same and fought the desire to sleep.


	2. Part II

“Get up!”

Hermione jerked awake, her arms flailing before her as Malfoy roughly shoved her back once more. It felt like she had only just fallen asleep. Icy fear shot through her chest and she was up and crouched next to Malfoy in the next instant, both peering out of his cave. Something was there, although she couldn’t see it, she trusted Malfoy enough to be afraid. Her heart pounded in her ears, making it difficult to listen, but that was the least of her problems. 

Through the willow came a huge, craggy hand, grasping at both of them. Hermione inhaled sharply and fell backwards onto her bum, while Malfoy flattened himself against the nearest wall. The large hand flailed about, reaching further in, and managed to snatch Hermione by her foot. She screamed, as she was drug from the cave. Malfoy simply watched her go.

Up through the branches and out into the glaring sun, Hermione saw the troll from upside down as it peered at her. Screaming did no good whatsoever, but she couldn’t help it. She thrashed about, hoping to free herself before the troll decided she looked edible. He lifted her higher still, sniffing her before bellowing long and loud. The troll’s breath was horrendous and, combined with the vertigo, made her want to vomit. He shook her, rattling her brain and her teeth, and Hermione tasted blood in her mouth. 

The troll lurched forward, dropping Hermione. She landed in a pile of limbs and hair. A sharp pain shot through her right arm into her shoulder and she knew at once that she’d broken something. Ignoring the pain, she crawled away as the troll began stomping and hollering. Using the nearest wall, she pulled herself up and turned to see Malfoy staring the troll down, wand in his hand but still at his side. The troll was rubbing his eyes, as though something had blinded him, but soon noticed Malfoy and roared in anger.

Hermione glanced around for a weapon of any sort, but only found small stones, so she armed herself the best she could and watched. Within the left hand of the troll was clutched a broken tree trunk, one end once sharp, now dulled and stained a dark colour. He swung the makeshift club, narrowly missing Malfoy. Hermione waited for him to use magic against the creature.

Malfoy swiftly dodged the troll’s attack, obviously intending to wear him out before retaliating, but why? Why not simply Stupefy him? Why prolong it? True, Malfoy was a prat and a bully at school, always tormenting the younger students and even some older than they, but this was quite different. Not for the first time, Hermione questioned if he even had his magic still or, if like she, he had lost his natural abilities. She had experimented early on with spell casting and nearly lost all hope until the obvious conclusion came to her. If she had a wand, her magic would have an outlet and she would find her way out in no time at all. That was, of course, before she ran into Malfoy. Now, she wondered if they weren’t completely without magic here, since he seemed to have forgotten the wand he held. 

The troll was growing more irritated, and she feared his bellows would soon bring unwanted attention from either more trolls or something far worse. A series of options flooded her mind then. She could run, yes, but how far? And how would she survive? Whether spoken or not, reciprocated or not, she had made a promise to both herself and Malfoy that they would make it out together. If Malfoy was as inept as he now appeared battling the troll, could she, in good conscience, leave him to die? No, that wasn’t an option. Therefore, she was left with one path to take.

Hefting the largest stone she could, Hermione reared back and threw the bludger-sized rock towards the troll’s head, but unfortunately missed, instead nearly clobbering Malfoy. It was a distraction, though, for the troll and gave Malfoy a moment to glare openly at her. “I’m trying to -” 

Her next words were cut off as the troll spun and swiped his primitive club towards her. Luckily, he missed, but the scare was enough to twist up her feet and topple her over. Malfoy did not waste the given opportunity. Without making a noise, he leapt up the back of the troll, catching the creature completely off guard, and managed to jab the end of his wand into his right eye. 

A horrendous yowl of pain shook the walls, disrupting years and years of dust and debris loose upon her shoulders. Hermione covered her head pitifully before Malfoy sprung from the back of the blinded beast and caught her arm, lugging her after him. There was so much dust in her eyes, she couldn’t see the direction they had fled, but she trusted him at least this much to get them as far away as possible.

Too many twists and turns and she was predictably lost, but not Malfoy. No, he ran confidently through the maze, his free arm swinging wildly before him, swatting away branches and pixies, all the while panting harshly, occasionally cursing her to move her arse faster. His hand was sweaty and she worried she would lose her grip and crash down into the stone below, breaking out all her teeth. She worried if she did, he would certainly leave her there to rot. Burning pain shot through her legs, urging her on, and her side felt like it had lightening slashing through. 

Her mouth was parched and she gagged with every breath, then she was unexpectedly flung forward, colliding into a vine-covered wall. Instinctively, she blocked with her arms, fearing what type of flora she was practically nose-deep in, however, it was all right. If only for that exact moment. Malfoy yanked her by her hair and she bared her teeth in protest, seething, trying to get her feet back under her as he urged her up the stairs. 

Stairs?

Yes, he had led them towards a crumbling set of stairs that curved around and around, up to … nothing, it looked like. She clambered to her hands and feet and began going up, soon getting her feet fully functional and climbing higher and higher, all while Malfoy panted behind her to _Move!_

Once they reached the top, she saw why. Down below, a swarm of _something_ , something slithering across the ground, shiny and black with great big pinchers, was following. Hermione gaped as they scaled the stairs much faster than she would have liked. Not waiting any longer, Hermione rushed across the first floor of what once must have been a walkway, edged in decaying columns. Occasionally, she would pass the remains of a statue, unable to decipher the sex of the cloaked person. Malfoy was no longer with her, she also noticed, and spun about to see what had become of him. 

Back at the top of the steps he stood, watching, waiting. He looked neither anxious nor winded, rather annoyed, though, as he lifted his wand and muttered, “Incendio.” Hermione covered her ears, attempting to block out the high-pitched squeals of the burning insects, watching as they curled up, collapsing down upon the next wave as they marched upwards. Purple smoke rose from their corpses and she had to remove one hand to protect her nose and mouth. 

Malfoy was utterly unperturbed.

“So, you _can_ use your wand,” she said absently, her hot breath exhaling against her palm. He turned to her, redirecting his irritation from the dying insects to her and simply nodded in the direction they were to continue. This was neither the time nor the place, she decided, to berate him about using magic. First, they must get somewhere safe, relatively speaking, and then she would harass.

*

It was considerably cooler within the shell of what reminded her of a temple, with its columns standing in broken towers and dilapidated fountains, long dry, red dirt coating the bottom. Hermione smacked her lips; the desire for water was devastating. Most of the ceiling had collapsed, however, so sunlight would pour in like molten lava in a few hours, and the flora had overtaken most of the stonework. Any shade that did not try to eat you was good enough for Hermione, however.

Malfoy allowed them to rest for a bit, dropping down against a decaying pillar, wiping the sweat off his face, ignoring their current sanctuary. Something was off about him, she decided. It was obvious he was just as exhausted as she was, but she didn’t believe he had slept while they were secluded in his cave. He scratched his beard and she wondered just how itchy it made the skin there before she looked away. She was so tired; she wanted nothing more than to sleep, for days and days and days.

Her stomach growled ferociously, loud enough that he could hear it and he winced. Blushing, she looked about the empty space for anything edible. During her time within the labyrinth, she more and more often relied upon her Herbology lessons, not only to identify the dangerous, man-eating plants, but also to eat. She couldn’t recall a time since traveling with Harry and Ron that her stomach wasn’t always empty, begging for any morsels whatsoever.

This was not the time, she told herself firmly, to be thinking about her friends. Wherever they were, they were looking for her, and the best she could do by them was to save herself from this mess she was in. A flame of doubt grew in her heart, however, when she wondered if they were here somewhere. Hermione cut her eyes towards Malfoy. He wasn’t much for talking, she’d learned, but surely had he seen either Harry or Ron, he would have mentioned it by now. Wouldn’t he? Honestly, she did not know. 

Malfoy groaned as he rose to his feet, not bothering to dust his backside, and crossed the courtyard. His entire bare chest shimmered with sweat, all the way down to his low-slung trousers, which had dipped even further. When he passed in front, Hermione’s eyes fixated on the exposed dimples about his arse, how the sweat trickled down into each crevice and stayed. Hermione fanned herself with her hand, and then smacked her own forehead before rising to follow wherever he was going.

*

Sweat clung to Hermione like a nasty film, pooling beneath her breasts and in her armpits, trickling down her back and sticking her thin shift to her like a vile second skin. The ache in her belly grew and growled at her, but there was nothing on their path she was able to eat. Occasionally, before Malfoy, she had come across familiar berries that she knew were safe to eat. Once, though, she had been mistaken. The taste of bile rose in her mouth at the memory of how sick she’d become; a lesson hard learned.

Malfoy walked before her several paces, but never so far to be out of sight. As they turned and turned, winding their way endlessly, he kept a steady pace, never tiring. How did he do it? Her bare feet were cracked, aching deep into the tissue. Every step was awful. He must have coarser feet, she thought, since he was just as barefoot. 

“How did you end up here?” she asked, distracting herself from her many pains. From somewhere nearby, soft chuckles erupted. Hermione froze, wild eyes scanning about for the source, but Malfoy paid the noise no heed. She had to scurry to catch up before he turned out of sight. Still, he did not answer, and just when she was thinking how priggish and typical it was of him, he surprised her.

“I’m not sure,” he said softly. Now she walked closer to him, close enough to touch his shoulder, should she want. Hermione really wanted him to expound, yet she was apprehensive. Not that many hours ago, she had bombarded him with too many questions and he grew furious. 

It was nearing mid-day and the sun was bearing down on them viciously. The freckles on her arms stood out starkly, a sign of an impending bad sunburn. They needed to get out of the sun, surely Malfoy understood that. She glanced at his tan back. There was hardly anybody paler than Malfoy back at Hogwarts, and she supposed he must have been here for quite some time, having gotten so dark. However, there were lighter patches of skin, mostly in streaks, here and there. Looking more closely, she noticed they were scars. It shouldn’t have surprised her, considering what monsters she knew dwelt within this hellish maze and how many close calls she had had, but she was alarmed all the same.

Suddenly, she was staring at the middle of his chest. Gaping like a fish, Hermione looked up. Malfoy looked down at himself, then back at her, frowning. He stepped forward and immediately Hermione scooted aside, then watched as he headed back the way they’d come. Evidently confused, she walked where he’d been only to see it was a dead end. 

“What?” She scampered back around the corner. “I thought you knew where you were going!” she accused. Malfoy either did not hear or did not care what she said because he gave no indication otherwise. They travelled back to the area where she had heard the laughing before, this time it was louder. She looked around cautiously then yelped.

Down near the ground, standing about six inches tall, were gnomes. The most ghastly gnomes Hermione had ever seen. Over a handful of summers at the Burrow, she and Ginny had helped the boys de-gnome the family garden before dinners and events, but those gnomes seemed…normal… compared to these. Sallow-skinned and wrinkly, the gnomes looked like miniature old men, with tufts of white hair similar to dandelions. They had large, black eyes and sunken mouths, as though none of them had any teeth at all. The more she looked at them, she was surprised to see how much they looked alike, as though she were hallucinating them all.

“What odd-looking gnomes,” Hermione remarked, slowing her pace to stare further. 

Without even looking, Malfoy replied, “They remind me of my Great Uncle Lazlo.”

“Crookshanks would love to eat you,” she quietly threatened the meanest looking one, who merely stuck his tongue out. He incited the others who quickly did the same, some even making obscene hand gestures at her. Hermione was appalled. “Where on earth did they learn _that_?”


	3. Part III

The sun was blazing up above, burning every exposed inch of her body. She could feel flakes of skin beginning to peel off her in places. Every step scorched her feet as she drudged behind Malfoy, who appeared tireless. How did he do it? He was barefooted, like she, and had on only a pair of ragged, shredded trousers. Perhaps it was all bravado on his part, making a show for her benefit; that boys were stronger than girls, or even perhaps that Slytherin was better than Gryffindor. She wanted to bark out a mirthless laugh, but even her throat was too dry in this heat.

Hermione shielded her eyes against the sun, hoping to estimate what time it was. Of course, knowing the time did her very little good in this disastrous place. She stood, knees locked, head thrown back, her eyes closed against the bright sunlight, wishing she would simply melt away. Seconds later, as the sweat pooled beneath her armpits and slithered down the backs of her legs, she righted herself with a jerk. For a moment, she thought Malfoy had called her name. She glanced his way, finding him ripping something off a brittle, dead vine.

“I take it you’re not hungry, then,” he said, his hands bashing a gourd against the stone wall and then plucking out the innards, leaving them scattered on the ground. 

“I’m not _that_ hungry,” she muttered, stretching each leg out before walking over towards him. Desperate times called for desperate measures, certainly, but Hermione hoped she’d never be desperate enough to eat a dried out loofah. “Oh, strawberries!”

He pulled three, plump, slightly squished strawberries from his pocket and handed them to her. Hermione fell upon them like a starved man, which wasn’t far from the mark. Between juicy bites she asked, “Where did you find these?” Malfoy nodded behind her, where she saw the most peculiar thing.

Behind a small tree with a crooked trunk, growing wild up and down the wall, were strawberries, their little red fruits dotting the green with vitality and sweetness. One by one, she picked a strawberry then shoved it in her mouth nearly whole, savouring the summertime fruit, quenching her thirst with its bursting juices against her tongue. Hermione stood still, eating as many as she could before remembering she wasn’t the only one hungry. She glanced over her shoulder. Malfoy was using a sharp-edged stone to gash a hole in his gourd. She would have done the same, except she would have used the wand he inconveniently ignored. 

There weren’t as many strawberries as she’d first believed, or perhaps she’d eaten more than she thought herself capable. Still, she wanted to save what was left. Hermione fingered her thin shift, considering, leaving red stains against the cloth. No, it wouldn’t do at all. She looked back at Malfoy, who had finished with his gourd and was dusting his hands clean. Malfoy paused, noticing how she stared at him. He tilted his head a bit and rolled his eyes, glaring back at the few remaining gourds left on the dead vine.

“We need the water more, Granger.”

“Agreed, but Malfoy, it’s fruit! Good, delicious fruit. Even you can’t refuse strawberries.”

“Can’t I?” he argued, however he tsked and handed over the gourd he’d just prepared and walked back to ready another for water, whenever they might come across it. Hermione smiled, but he didn’t see it. She browsed through the strawberries, picking the best looking of the bunch, the less spotty and bug-bitten ones, dropping them carefully into the gourd. She would have to be extremely careful not to shake the gourd too much when they continued, or else her painstaking efforts would be for naught. 

Having filled her gourd, Hermione waited for Malfoy next to the crooked tree, which hid the strawberries. She gave the tree a second glance and gradually realized what kind of tree it happened to be. With a tremendous smile, Hermione set down her gourd and set about breaking off a nice sized twig from the Salvadora persica. 

Sometimes she amazed herself with her cleverness.

*

Malfoy was practically indefatigable. He continued to tromp through the maze, occasionally stopping to yell at Hermione for being such deadweight. She was exhausted. The fruit was a godsend earlier, quenching both her hunger and thirst for a time, but she was even thirstier now.

How she wished for some water. 

Hermione eyed Malfoy’s gourd strapped around his waist with a bit of vine. She wished she’d thought to tear some vine for hers. When she first noticed his contraption, she tried to mimic it with some ivy she’d seen, but the gourd slipped free with every other step. At the risk of losing Malfoy indefinitely, she gave up and tucked the nearly empty gourd under her arm.

His was still empty. He said it was for carrying water. She had to assume he was leading them that way now, that he knew where water could be found, or else she might lose it.

Just as Hermione’s legs were about to give out, they found a small pool in the center of a four-way path. With a final burst of energy, she jogged towards the water, where Malfoy was already bent to submerge the gourd.

“Wait, wait!” Hermione waved her hands towards the gourd and the pool. Malfoy stared at her impatiently. “You have to purify it first. I mean, I know we haven’t any iodine,” she said, rolling her eyes and scoffing at the obvious. “But you do have a wand. So…”

Malfoy remained on his haunches, staring at her as though she were a bug he was considering squishing. After a few seconds, he turned back and lowered the gourd once more.

“Did you not hear me? You can’t just drink that water like it is, Malfoy!”

“Oh, do tell me why ever not?”

Hermione’s eyes bulged. “Because of bacteria! Microorganisms, infecting the water. They’ll make you sick. Haven’t you ever heard of dysentery?”

“So what?” he said without looking at her. The gourd was submerged. She could hear the soft gurgling of the water as it filled up. There could be all sorts of disgusting things floating in that water, impossible to even see. 

“You have to boil it, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy stood, wiping the excess water off the side of the gourd and rubbing it into his neck. He lifted the gourd towards his mouth, so Hermione had to react the way she did. In an instant, she was flying towards the gourd, intent on knocking it from his grip. At the final second, Malfoy blocked her, her body crashing into his side, nearly knocking him off balance. The impact hardly slowed her down as Hermione scrambled to take the gourd from him, all the while throwing out the number of deaths from infected water in third world countries.

With a growl, she backed off. “Use your wand, Malfoy. Boil the damned water!”

“There’s no need,” he quietly said. 

Again, her eyes bulged out of her skull at his audacity. “Haven’t you heard a single word I’ve said?”

“You ramble incessantly like a little girl, spouting off useless informa – yes, _useless_! There is nothing wrong with this water as it is. Hey, let – let go!” Hermione swiped at his wand, but Malfoy was stronger and faster than she was. However, she was determined. They struggled so much that the gourd fell to the ground, the water quickly gulping up the spilled liquid. “All right!” he said at last. “Give me, give -”

Malfoy snatched the wand back from her with a snarl, picked up the gourd, which he refilled, then sat down. With a huff, Hermione walked stiffly towards the nearest, non-snapping bush and pulled off a handful to act as kindling.

Hermione arranged and rearranged the leaves in a pile that would best work for a small fire until Malfoy, exasperated, heaved an exaggerated sigh, and nudged her aside. With a sigh of her own, she sat next to him and waited. She eyed the gourd once more and considered how well it’d fare directly in the fire. Perhaps, once Malfoy managed the spell, he could also Transfigure it into a pan. Ideas ran wild within her brain of all the things she could accomplish if given Malfoy’s wand. 

She tried not to think about what became of hers. Sometimes, she’d imagine the crack of the wand snapping, out of reach, and shudder. Yes, she was still a witch, wand, or no wand. Nevertheless, having a wand definitely made all the difference.

Several minutes passed and nothing had changed, other than her irritation increasing. “Why haven’t you started the fire yet?”

“I tried!”

“Did not!”

“You watched me cast the damn spell.”

“I heard you mutter the words, but _obviously_ you did _something_ wrong -”

“Why’s it always that _I’ve_ done something wrong?”

“Well, what else could have not cast the spell, Malfoy? Honestly!”

“It’s the wand.” Hermione scoffed loudly. 

“I told you, it doesn’t always work -”

“Oh, please!” she huffed. “Give it to me if you can’t manage -”

“I can manage just fine,” he replied, stretching his arm out of reach. She wasn’t about to play keep away again so soon.

“Prove it,” she challenged. “Light the fire.”

They both trained their eyes onto the pile of leaves as nothing happened. Again and again, nothing happened. Malfoy’s voice grew gruff, barking out the spell, and every time it failed he spat out curses, most of which were directed at her. She ignored his words and focused on why he was suddenly incapable. 

“You managed all right to set the beetles on fire, didn’t you? How was that any different?”

“Leave off,” he bellowed, his face burning red, half-obscured by his filthy, too-long hair. Malfoy jumped up, flinging his wand against the fair wall. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! You think I’m mental? Think I’m crazy, hm? Only fire would have killed those bastards, so -”

“Yes, fire! Fire that you cast with that wand!” she shrieked, returning to her feet and storming towards him. Malfoy only sighed heavily, clearly feeling the burden of a companion, more friend than foe at any rate, and apparently regretting everything to do with her. Hermione shook her head. “You are mad. Absolutely. Not a doubt in my mind.” Hermione gaped at him for a second or two, her eyes large and impatient. “You have a wand! You can do magic!”

“Of course, I can! I’m a wizard, aren’t I?” he scoffed.

Hermione shook her head in utter disbelief. “You’ve gone round the twist, is what! Use your wand, Malfoy; start a fire! Or, better yet, get us out of here!” she all but growled.

He stared blankly at her. “It doesn’t work all the time,” he quietly reiterated after a moment. She glared even harder, showing nothing but contempt. 

Oh, how convenient is that? Only works when he wants it to work, or it finally cuts through the mush he’s got between his ears he calls brains. She took a deep breath and held it, silently counting to ten, and then exhaled. For the moment, she was willing to let it go. Her mind had switched gears.

“How do we get out of the labyrinth?”

“Most times, you have to solve it,” he snarked, pacing back and forth. The way he sneered over at her, she felt as though they were back in Potions class, unfortunately paired together over a cauldron destined to blow up in their faces. Her temper and his were nearly boiling over. Malfoy bent over to retrieve his wand, returning it to his waistband, and then ran over to her pile of leaves, kicking them, sending them flying a few inches off the ground. Both reached down at the same time to recover the spilling gourd, but Malfoy was quicker. They continued to glare at one another until she looked away at last.

She sighed. “How do we _solve_ the labyrinth?” 

Honestly, it was easier getting a straight answer out of Fred and George than from him. Their mischievous faces flashed before her now and her heart surged a bit. Yes, she even missed the terrible twosome. 

Malfoy chewed on his thumbnail, spitting out whatever distasteful gunk he found beneath the nail, his eyebrows netted together. She waited with dwindling patience, believing that having any at all at this point would have greatly impressed even Dumbledore (had Dumbledore still been living, she supposed) until, at last, he spoke. “The centre. Must reach the centre.”

Oh, it was so obvious! Of course, finding the centre ought to defeat it. Why hadn’t she considered that? Excitement replaced her anger. There was a way. “Can you get us there?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you know the way?”

“Why should I bother doing anything with you?”

Hermione gaped. True, they fought like little children just now, but they had been getting along fairly well, considering their history. “Fine! Fine! Go on, then, run … wherever the devil takes you! I was doing all right long before yo-”

“Like hell you were! If I hadn’t saved your arse -”

“Saved? My arse – hah! You’re the coward here, Malfoy”

“Shut it, you stupid bitch. I mean it!”

“… claim to know how to get out of here, but you’re just as stuck as I am! At least I know someone’s looking for me, but you? No, I’m willing to bet -”

“Not another word, Granger,” Malfoy quietly threatened, but she hardly could hear him.

“Someone _left you here deliberately_ , was done with you – a sniveling, cowardly little boy who couldn’t even follow or-”

Hermione was shoved to the ground with a single push, falling smack on her bottom. The shock of it silenced her. Malfoy was glowering above her, his rage obviously barely contained. They were both panting.

It was around midday when they were finally calm enough to not kill each other and decide which of the four paths to take. As a sign of truce, Hermione said nothing whatsoever when Malfoy swung back the gourd, taking great, deep swallows of the possibly deadly water.   
Instead, she followed Malfoy’s lead as the bedraggled pair, thirsty and especially tired, set about for the centre of the labyrinth and the promised salvation that lay just beyond.

*

Hermione’s hand clenched tightly around Malfoy’s bicep as he paused, both listening as something scuffled about on the other side of the wall. She held her breath, not trusting herself to be completely silent. She really, truly hoped that what was making that shuffling noise was nothing more than an animal. A small, harmless animal, without any teeth.

Or claws.

Or anything. 

Malfoy, on the other hand, was steady, calm. Waiting. She noted that he was not clutching his wand and wondered if he was as worried as she was that it still did not work. A small part of her believed him, now, although she had no explanation for why a wand would do such a thing. Nothing she had read ever indicated that a wand, seemingly undamaged, would malfunction like that. She didn’t rule out the possibility that perhaps it wasn’t Malfoy’s wand to begin with – that would certain account for its behaviour. However, for a long as she had known Draco Malfoy, identifying his wand was never something she before considered.

Still, had their roles been reversed, whether the blasted thing worked or not, she would have had it gripped tight in her hand. At the very least, it would work for striking whatever was making that skritching noise. Oh, how she hoped it wasn’t another of those eel-men! That was enough to give her nightmares for years to come, as was much of this horrid place, come to think of it.

Malfoy lightly touched her hand, silently urging her to release him so he could step forward. Taking a deep breath, she did and off he went without a sound. One heartbeat. Two. Should she have followed him? They hadn’t discussed this before. By the fifth beat, he had returned red-faced and running.

“Wha?”

“Run, dammit, run!”

In the dim twilight, Hermione caught a glimpse of something scuttling after him, something with shiny black legs. A great many legs, in fact. The skittering noises she heard before seemed to echo all around as she ran, paces behind Malfoy. She had a very good idea what was chasing them, but wanted to know for sure. As she started to look back, something snatched her hand and she screamed.

“I told you to run, Granger, so move your arse!” Malfoy squeezed her hand, pulling her along much faster than her legs could manage. Hermione’s hair slipped into her mouth when she tried to ask where he expected they could run _to_ and escape the Acromantulas. Right then straight, then right again, endlessly the same walls with nothing to differentiate, to the point that she felt a bit sick. There was no time for vomiting, however, and she focused all of her energy, what little she had, on keeping up with Malfoy and not dislocating her arm.

“Oh, my God!” she screamed, having seen something from the corner of her eye that blocked out all of the faint light. “What was that? What -”

Malfoy yanked her around a corner, hardly slowing down, and she slammed her shoulder into the opposite wall, bouncing back. The pain was intense but manageable. She could feel the sweat gather between their palms and imagined herself slipping from his grip, collapsing to the ground. The abnormally large spiders would be on her in an instant, their pincers ripping through her flesh. She could practically feel the fangs pierce her weary body and wondered how quickly the poison would set in. Would it be a quick death, or would she simply be just numb enough to not protest being eaten alive?

Her morbid thoughts caused her to trip as they charged up a set of stairs. It was completely dark now and she had no idea how Malfoy was capable of seeing where they were headed. His hand slid from hers and she resigned herself to her fate, sprawling across the ground, panting. The blood rushing through her ears at least prevented her from hearing the awful skittering.

Instead of feeling pincers, Hermione jerked when Malfoy lightly kicked her in the thigh. “It’s over. Get up.” His words were slow to absorb into her brain, the adrenaline slowly receding. She sat up, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and asked what had happened. “Troll,” he answered breathlessly. Ah, that explained what she thought she’d seen. Well, at least the troll and the Acromantulas were on a more even keel for battling than she and Malfoy against either.

Malfoy removed the gourd from his makeshift belt and greedily drank as she watched, her tongue literally lolling from between her lips. Over the gourd, he saw her and choked with laughter. “That’s quite attractive, Granger, I must say!”

“Gimme,” she begged, but he refused, arguing that Merlin knew what awful diseases she might contract from the impure water. “Or from drinking after a git like you,” she added, rising to her knees with great effort. “Gimme some water, anyway.”

Either Malfoy was unwilling to tussle with a woman who nearly kicked his arse a few hours ago, or he was just too weary from their latest near death experience, but either way, he tossed her the gourd, which sloshed quietly, nearly empty. Without even wiping the hole, Hermione press the dried skin of the fruit to her cracked lips and drank deeply. The water was lukewarm at best, verging on warm, and there was barely enough to truly slake her thirst, but it was the best damned water Hermione had ever drunk in her entire life.

She wiped her mouth clear then sucked on the muddied fingers, no longer carrying at all what germs she was ingesting so long as there was moisture to quench her thirst. She happened to look up and found Malfoy smirking at her. With an audible _pop_ , she removed her fingers and stood, facing him, daring him to laugh, but he ignored her. 

“We ought to keep moving,” he said, surprising her yet again. He pointed back the way they had come. “They’re not going to fight forever.” He was right, of course, but she could not understand how this area, high up and surely kilometres from the scuffle, didn’t qualify as safe. Hermione cast her eyes about uselessly in the dark, thankful that she had kept that thought to herself or else possibly risk the wrath of the temperamental labyrinth, willing to prove her wrong ten times over for her temerity.

“If memory serves,” he added, turning his head to speak to her over his left shoulder. “There’s a cave not far from here.”

The dam burst forth. “How is a cave any better than this elevated platform for protection?”

“Not again,” he moaned, rubbing his face harshly. “Can you ever – just once – not argue for arguing’s sake, Granger? Must you always find something wrong with every suggestion I -”

“Suggestions!” she laughed. “There are never any suggestions with you, Herr Malfoy!”

“What was that?” he half turned to face her, incredulity evident. “What are you trying to say? That, that I’m a Nazi?” She muttered something about the blond hair being a giveaway and enraged him further. Malfoy stopped, giving her his full attention, prepared to fight. 

“All we do is what you tell me to do. It’s always your choices, when to stop, when to eat, _what_ to eat -”

“Uh huh, and tell me again, how long have we survived?”

The two stood less than a foot apart, and it was impossible to determine who first shoved his finger into the other’s face as their rage boiled over again. The ground below them started to give way and crumble, and without thinking, Hermione clung to Malfoy’s biceps as they tumbled down, arse over teakettle.


	4. Part IV

The water was murky near the edges, clearer farther out. Hermione hesitated for a moment, considering her safety, but the smell of the rotten stinksap that had dried on her skin overnight urged her. The idea of being clean was more important at the moment than possibly being drowned by Mother Nature or her creatures of darkness.

She walked carefully into the small pond, her eyes darting left and right the further she went, anticipating the worst. When she was waist deep, the sounds of Malfoy splashing could be heard. She didn’t bother turning to see him; she knew he’d be several feet over from her, keeping between her and the edge, watching for danger. The bastard, she thought. It was all his fault they were like this. Had he just let them stay the night up on the higher level, had he not insisted that they continue, in pitch-black darkness, neither of them would have fallen and landed among those gruesome Bubotubers. Hermione had never smelled anything like it, the putrid, vile stench of the stinksap the plants emitted upon them both. Thankfully, her sense of smell had abandoned her a few hours ago. However, she felt as though at least two layers of skin might need to be removed along with the gunk that coated her from head to toe.

Her hands drifted through the top of the water, creating little waves, and she wished it were a river, churning cool water against her. Where the water covered her, she could feel relief, the anxiety melting away. Quickly, she began scrubbing her skin, desperate now to finally be clean, or at least less filthy. Oh, how she missed soap! The stinksap was thick like syrup. This would have to suffice, as she dipped further down, ignoring the possibility of threat. If something were to eat her now, she reasoned, at least she’d feel better. But the sap still covered her.

Minutes passed as she continued to scrub, submerging completely into the water to wet her tangled hair. Breaking the surface, Hermione relished the opposing sensations of the cool water sluicing down her face beneath the warming rays of the morning sun. Her fingers worked their way through her curls under the water, fairing far better than expected. She didn’t have the luxury to wish for commonplace things in this place. Soon, she would be free and could savor the convenience of combs and towels and soap and everything else she had before taken for granted. _If I had a wand, I could have all of those things._

Hermione stood up tall and looked over her shoulder to see Malfoy’s back to her as he scrubbed and watched the shoreline. Water ran down his back in thin rivers from his matted hair. Somehow, he had freed himself of the stinksap much faster than she had, judging by what of his bare skin she could see from this distance. His scars looked like white leaches against his tanned back. Malfoy had wet his hair but not bothered to comb it out. In his hands was a wad of something that he used to scour his skin. Intrigued, Hermione stomped his way, startling him a little, as he turned to eye her.

“Where did you get that?” She pointed to the lump of greenish, spindly vines he clutched tighter. Malfoy stared back, and after a moment during which she believed he wouldn’t answer out of spite, he pointed to the shoreline. There, draping off several trees, was green-grey lichen, and Hermione wanted to kick herself for not having the same idea as he. Before she could trudge out of the pond to retrieve some for herself, Malfoy offered her his. “Oh,” she said, surprised. “Thank you.”

He murmured something, not quite intelligible, but she smiled anyway. Perhaps, finally feeling clean put him in a better mood as well. Malfoy turned away as he said, “We can’t stay very long.” 

Hermione set about scrubbing her skin nearly raw with the lichen, marvelling at how easily the stinksap came off with the friction. She glanced over her shoulder, towards where she believed he had gone. She couldn’t help but wonder if the snake recoiled at the touch of the lichen. When she had finished, Malfoy was again dipping his head back into the water, half-attempting to clean his head. “You have to use your fingers,” she offered, catching his glare for the suggestion. “Dip your head and work out the clumpnuggets with your fingers.”

Malfoy’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “The _what_?” The corner of his mouth seemed to turn up a bit.

"Clumpnuggets. You know, the,” she pointed between him and her own hair. “The knots. Clumpnuggets. Here, allow me.” Hermione trudged towards him, positioning herself beside Malfoy, and instructing him to kneel. He hesitantly followed her direction, still giving her the most incredulous look, as she proceeded to weave her fingers through the knots in his hair under water. 

After some struggle, the knots loosened and Malfoy’s hair began flowing like a mermaid’s. When she was a little girl, she used to play in the bath as if she were a mermaid, sliding her head side to side, watching from the corner of her eye to see her normally bushy hair flowing out in long, smooth lines around her. The homesick ache overwhelmed her, and Hermione pushed against Malfoy’s shoulders. He promptly stood up, his smooth hair weighed down heavily with the streaming water and so bright, she hated to look at it directly. 

They stood so close together that she could feel his breath against her face. She looked up at him then to see he was staring down at her. Fear clenched at her heart. Malfoy wasn’t entirely normal here, and she was never fully certain where she stood with him, always worried when he would snap and revert to his previous demeanour. But now, there seemed to be clarity in his eyes as he stared at her. Hermione fought against the ridiculous embarrassment of such a gaze, her hand instinctively reaching up to check her hair, where she discovered another knot. Face hot, she turned away, her shoulder brushing against his slick chest as she reached with both hands to tackle her hair. She thought she saw the shadow of his arm lifting towards her, but she must have imagined it.

“No time for primping, Granger,” he said flatly, and began walking away. She sneered at his back, but soon followed. Together they made their way back to the edge, squeezing their waterlogged clothes and hair. Malfoy retrieved his gourd and knelt by the water’s edge, scrubbing it harshly, then walked several paces upstream from where they had bathed and filled it up. Hermione stood behind him, keeping an eye out as he finished. Malfoy tapped the gourd against her calf, to get her attention, and then offered it to her first. 

She mumbled a quick thank you before gulping down several swallows before returning it. She wished she still had her gourd, but she thought she lost it somewhere between the Acromantulas and the Troll.

Malfoy had refilled the gourd, secured it on his waistband and had begun walking away before she could grumble at being left behind. She gave one last look at the pond and wondered just how much further they had to go.

*

With hardly a word, Malfoy practically dictated their every move, from when they rested, to which path they took, to when they ate, but Hermione drew the line at what food he chose for them. Having no weapon besides his supposedly malfunctioning wand, Malfoy mostly ate decaying meat and bones, the carcasses they encountered along the way. She only refused his offer once and since then, Malfoy would crouch down near his findings and ravage the remains in near silence. It was enough to turn Hermione off meat all together, she feared.

“Why do you do that?” she asked with a grimace, gagging when he stopped mid-chew to stare back, a long yellowy sliver of something foreign pulled taut between his teeth and the bone. “For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy, cook it first! You’ve know idea how rancid it might be, or even _what_ it was.” 

He let the bit of whatever he held between his teeth snap back to the bone, chewing thoughtfully as Hermione continued to gag next to him. Then he slowly asked, “Is this like the water you refused to drink before we boiled it?”

She glared at him with so much hatred; she wished she could incinerate him with just her eyes. She wasn’t even going to dignify that with a response. Hermione glanced at the carcass and blanched, seeing a maggot inching along.

She grew exasperated even more. “You know, cook it, with fire?” Her eyes widened and her hands imitated a blazing fire between them. “You have a wand,” she accused. “Bloody well use it, if you know how! 

“And for that matter,” she continued, getting all riled up, pacing, her voice increases with every word. “Get us home! We don’t belong here; there are monsters everywhere we look. You have the power, you have a wand. Don’t let us die here just because you’ve lost your mi-”

She stopped herself from saying what she really thought, growling out her frustrations, noticing how he glared at her over his meat. Malfoy exhaled loudly through his nose, almost snorting, as he ravaged his food. Biting off a chunk, he chewed with his mouth open, and muttered something around the remains, and a chill went down her spine. During her rant, she thought he said, “We are,” but she must have imagined it.

Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes dulling for a second or two before growing very, very wide. The carcass fell from his hand and he swiftly stood, looking all around. His behaviour was quite frightening. Closer than either of them would have preferred, a roar resounded through the labyrinth, shaking dust free and clenching tightly around Hermione’s heart. 

Her hand clapped against her mouth, stunned. For the briefest instance, she thought she saw a shadow approaching, two massive horns stretching across the ground. The walls seemed to quake in the approach of _something_ , something she was positive she never wanted to see.

The sound of feet slapping against sand caught her attention. Malfoy was running away. “Wait!” she screamed, chasing after him. Soon she was panting, heedless of the noise she made, desperate to catch up to Malfoy, who ran as though the Devil himself gave chase. A crossroads appeared, offering no clue as to which way he had gone. Hermione began to panic. “Malfoy!” she cried out, her head flipping to either side endlessly, unable to decide. Thunderous steps behind her were louder, closer.

“Come on!” Malfoy hissed in her ear, causing her to jump and scream. He clamped his hang over her mouth with a grimace and roughly tugged her down one path. When he let go to take the lead, she clung to his hand and he let her. A tremendous roar rumbled nearby; she could feel it resonate in her own chest, surging her forward. She hadn’t the breath to ask Malfoy what was pursuing them, and a terrified part of her honestly didn’t want to know.

They ran and ran as long as they could, until Hermione’s thighs and calves burned with the effort, until she was sure their heavy pants would give them away, no matter how quiet they tried to be. Malfoy dropped her hand then dropped to the ground, crawling into a hole in the wall so small she was shocked to see that he could manage it. As soon as his feet disappeared through, she followed. It was pitch black within and damp. The dirt clung to her skin and filled her lungs. Under normal circumstances, Hermione did not consider herself to be claustrophobic, but she considered all the horrors she had seen while in this wretched place, and suddenly she wanted _out_!

Frantically crawling towards an anticipated exit from the dark unknown, she bumped straight into Malfoy’s bottom, knocking him forward. “What is it?” she hissed, tears clogging up her voice. He didn’t reply and her anxiety grew. Faintly, she thought she heard the monster roar again, but wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t just the blood rushing past her ears. “Malfoy?!”

After a moment, he began moving once more and she grasped his ankle, until he kicked her off. She wanted to pinch him then, and realized the edge of her anxiety had worn off while they’d stopped. This cave he had burrowed into was very tight, as it turned upwards, and oddly free of jutting rocks, like an actual tunnel might have been, which made Hermione believe it was not a natural occurrence. It was even possible that Malfoy himself had dug it out, or perhaps someone else who’d been here long ago. Merlin, she hoped whoever – or whatever – had excavated this passage way wasn’t still down here!

The passage became brighter bit-by-bit and the air was less stifling. They were nearing an exit, at last. A bright white light flooded the end as Malfoy escaped, but his jutting hands reached back inside to help pull her out. Never had she been more thankful for the blazing sun and oppressive heat.

The adrenaline had nearly completely worn off and left Hermione drained. She slid down the side of the wall, her arms limp at her side, legs spread out before her, asserting her space. Malfoy was slowly pacing, his fists on his hips. She watched him for a minute, then asked again, “What was that?”

Malfoy stopped to look at her. He nodded to himself three times then answered in an ominous tone, “The Beast.”


	5. Part V

“You should get some rest,” Malfoy muttered after he approved of their camping spot for the day. It wasn’t as protected as Hermione would have preferred, but she was in no shape to argue. Besides, they were finally stopping. There was some shade from a tree, which had grown amid the stone wall. Or, had the wall sprung up into the tree, she wondered. Hermione spent several moments focusing on the image of the tree and the stones, arguing internally the probability of which came first and how it happened to be as it was now.

Yes, she was very thankful they had stopped.

Hermione rubbed her face with both hands, scrubbing away her frustrations and anxiousness the best she could, and then retrieved her Miswak stick from behind her ear. Carefully, she peeled back the bark from the tip, exposing the cambium layer. Her broken nails had a devil of a time accomplishing this, so she used her teeth to help. Eventually, she was satisfied, and began rubbing the Miswak against the front of her teeth, sighing in relief.

Malfoy scoffed. “And you say _I’ve_ gone mad? Look who’s _barking_ now?”

Hermione scowled at him. “For your information, Malfoy,” she said, her nose lifting slightly. “I’m brushing my teeth.”

“Are you, now?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, removing the Miswak from her mouth to reply. “This is,” she gurgled around the stick in her mouth, saliva dripping over her lips. She quickly wiped away the evidence, but not before Malfoy laughed at her. It was such an odd moment. Hermione was both irritated at him for laughing at her, but also so surprised to hear him laugh at all. Throughout their days entrapped in the labyrinth, she had heard him scream, curse, and snort at her, but never laugh. Hermione swallowed. It wasn’t worth mentioning, after all.

Malfoy watched her, smiling as she continued to _brush_ her teeth with her stick. He might find it amusing, but dental health wasn’t to be laughed away. At least when she left this rotten place, she would know she did the best she could with what was provided, unlike some, who devoured raw and sometimes rotten meat as though he were an animal. Hermione sniffed. She was willing to bet he had shreds of meat decaying away between his teeth; that his gums were receding in utter disgust at what he shoved past them whenever they ate. 

Her stomach squelched in protest, and she carefully removed the Miswak from her mouth, wiping away the saliva on her lips. She curled up on the ground, facing Malfoy, her back to the tree/wall. The sun was falling lower in the sky, turning the stones a dusty orange color. This time of day always reminded her of a Moroccan vacation she’d gone on with her parents some years ago. Thinking of Morocco, her mind jumped back to third year, to Ron flashing the news photo of his family on their trip to Egypt and how they had fought like cats and dogs. Or, perhaps, cats and rats. Hermione smiled sadly, wishing she were back there, or with her parents, anywhere but here. The tears stung her eyes, so she furiously blinked them away.

Malfoy was sitting up, turned towards her but facing right. Always watching. “Aren’t you going to rest as well?”

He shook his head, ran his hand easily through his clean hair, and sighed. Hermione watched as his face contorted, as though considering something to say but not exactly how to say it. His eyes creased and his mouth pressed tightly into a line before a frustrated huff of air exploded from it. Malfoy rolled his neck and turned to face her. Hermione strained her ears and thought he muttered, “I can never sleep anymore.”

*

When she woke, some hours later, she had a crick in her neck. Slowly, she sat up, her hand massaging her neck where it hurt. The morning light was soft, fuzzy, the sun barely up, not yet breaching the walls of the labyrinth, so it was quite possible that what she thought she saw was wrong. Ten feet or so across from her, almost exactly where she’d last seen him, sat Malfoy, his back now turned to her. He was muttering curses under his breath, his hand jabbing away towards his mouth. Hermione leaned over to her left, bracing herself with her hand, trying to see what he was doing.

It appeared that Malfoy had taken her Miswak in the night and was attempting to clean his teeth. She had to suppress a smile.

*

A strong, warm breeze blew through the labyrinth, rustling the leaves of the bushes and trees, lifting both Hermione and Malfoy’s hair and making the strands dance. Instinctively, Hermione reached up to pull her hair back down, letting out a little laugh. Her hand touched Malfoy’s as she did. Surprised, she looked over at him, found him blushing and looking away.

Malfoy took two long strides to step ahead of her, where they’d somehow been walking in sync. Hermione tucked the settled strands back behind her ear, looking down. A wave of nervousness washed over her suddenly. She was reminded of times when she and Ron would accidentally touch hands during a lesson, and how he’d jerk back and look away. Why she felt the same now was a mystery. Up ahead, Malfoy climbed up a broken wall, searching.

“Granger,” he called down to her and she sped up to stand below him, listening. He pointed East, explaining how he could see what he believed to be the centre, but for an obstruction. Malfoy didn’t offer any further explanation when she asked what he meant by that, but rather look the lead again. She quickly followed. After a moment, Hermione saw Malfoy’s left hand extended backwards, the fingers extended away from his palm in invitation. With a blush, she took his offered hand.

*

Hours later, when the rumblings of both their stomachs could no longer be denied and Malfoy had found no food along their deserted path, they parted ways. Hermione refused at first, her thoughts instantly turning to worry. How would they find each other again if they split up? What if something happened to the other while they were separated? Then, her thoughts surprised her. What if he was trying to lose her?

She shook it off. He had had many opportunities to evade her, had he really wanted to, she knew. However, that that wasn’t her first thought bothered her a bit. Hermione offered to find some vegetation they could eat, and Malfoy had said, “You do that,” with a smile. 

She knew he would eat whatever carcass he found first, as disgusting as it was. When she once again questioned why he didn’t use his wand to Accio a _living_ creature they could kill and cook and then both eat, he ignored her, shuffling down the path that converged with the one before her. Hermione groaned. She wasn’t completely ridiculous. It was a legitimate suggestion, she felt. They had not come across very many common animals, she admitted, but had seen enough of familiar-looking dead bodies that they _had_ to be in here, somewhere. 

Apparently, she had taken the wrong path. There was nothing, not a bush, nor a tree, not even a sign of life beyond herself. Just when she was considering turning back, she heard something. Despite being a Gryffindor, despite considering herself brave, Hermione waited, listening. There was a distinction between catching some poor creature and running smack into the middle of a swarm of creatures that would devour _her_.

Hermione’s steps slowed as she reached a corner, then stopped fully, stunned by the creature before her. Here, seemingly as lost and as out of place in this maze as she and Malfoy, was a mighty centaur. She recalled vividly from her fifth year exactly how dangerous and proud centaurs were, and was now both terrified and intrigued by his appearance. How had he wound up in here, she wondered, her feet guiding her ever closer to the centaur without realizing it.

The centaur’s head jerked to face her, stilling her steps completely. They stared at each other for a long moment before he quietly spoke with a resonating voice, “Be most careful, child.”

Of all the things he might have told her, being careful was not something she needed to be reminded. Hermione swallowed back a retort of this nature, not wanting to offend the sentient being. Centaurs were among the wisest magical creatures in the world, having the ability to foresee the future by interpreting the stars, day or night. Although Hermione scoffed at Divination, she was not about to do so now. Even though Malfoy had said he knew the way, they had to yet to escape. Perhaps, no, more likely than anybody or anything else, she decided, this centaur would know how to solve and escape the labyrinth.

Her lips had barely parted before the centaur lifted a finger to his own to silence her. Troubled by the motion, Hermione frowned, cutting her eyes left then right for any sign of danger or eavesdropper, and then attempted to ask him why, but she was urged to remain silent again.

The centaur slowly lowered his finger when she relented, uttering words she could just make out above the noises of the night that surrounded them. “There are many dangers within the labyrinth, but one more so than any other.”

Hermione blinked. “The Beast,” she whispered.

The centaur cantered in place as he continued speaking. “He is closer than you believe.”

Out of nowhere, the stones directly behind the centaur erupted in a blast of yellow light. The creature reared up on his hind legs, startled, and Hermione cowered, one hand thrust up against her astonished, gaping mouth. She spun about, searching for the source of attack. “Malfoy?!”

Malfoy’s face was so distorted with vitriol, that she almost did not recognize him. He charged down the path towards them, his wand held aloft, flinging multiple bolts of magic at the centaur, who whinnied and galloped out of sight.

“Wait!” Hermione chased after him and Malfoy pursued her. Soon, he had snatched her by her arm.

“What are you doing? He’s a monster,” he challenged, squeezing her tightly. Hermione hissed through her teeth at the pain. She tried to yank herself free, but he only held her tighter.

“You’re crazy, Draco Malfoy! Why on earth would you attack a centaur, for Merlin’s sake! Especially one who was _helping_ me?”

“Oh, is that what he was doing?” he spat, tugging her closer still. 

“Yes!” she screamed back at him. 

“Looked more like the two of you were quite cosy, yeah? Possibly thinking of running away together, were you?” Spit gathered in the corners of Malfoy’s mouth, frothing with each word. His eyes were pale and bright. “Leave me here to rot. No thanks whatsoever for all I’ve done to save your Mudblood arse!”

“Oh!” she mocked him in turn. “Oh, yes, the mighty Pureblood is here to rule us all! If you’re so high and mighty, then why are we still trapped? Or, better yet, why do you continually lie to me about your wand? It obviously works perfectly well, if you’re capable of assaulting an innocent”

“He would have reared up and knocked you senseless, you ignorant bitch, if I hadn’t saved you. Again!”

“You are cracked, Malfoy, no doubt about it! How can you think such a thing? He was going to – ow! He was, let me go!” Hermione struggled in his grip, pulling down, using the strength in his legs to off-balance him. In their tussle, Malfoy’s wand slipped from his grasp when he tried to hold her with both hands. 

In an instant, she was free, collapsing to the ground. Malfoy grappled with his wand, yanking it out of her reach. She was completely enraged now. Hermione jumped back up and slapped Malfoy square in the face. 

A cold dread spread within her chest as Malfoy reacted. It happened quite fast, but to Hermione time seemed to slow down and focus sharply. His mouth turned down at the corners, while his eyebrows netted together, furrowing down upon his slate-grey eyes, blazing with fury. 

In the next heartbeat, Malfoy backhanded her. The pain in her cheek was sharp and stinging, an explosion of bright light in her left eye. Her head flung from the motion, jarring her neck. She was astonished and frightened. In all the years she had known Malfoy, and especially during these last strange days, she had never believed him truly capable of hurting her. Harry’s voice rang in her ears, declaring Malfoy a Death Eater, a villain much worse than simply a schoolyard bully. She rubbed her cheek, eyes wide and tearing. 

Those words were replaced by the centaur’s warning.

How foolish she had been, to trust any creature within this hellish place, even Malfoy. Just because he was a familiar face, another human being and wizard seemingly in the same predicament as she, it was stupid to think he could be trusted. 

The harshness faded from Malfoy for a second, transforming into shock and what she interpreted as remorse. Her pride swelled. Hermione refused to let go of the tears that rushed into her eyes. Instead, she ran, following as best she could the direction the centaur had taken.

“No,” Malfoy muttered, his fingers barely touching her swinging arms as she ran away. “No, Hermione!” He chased her, but soon she knew she had escaped him. However, she could still hear him screaming her name. 

The roar of The Beast overshadowed his voice, and her heart tried to claw its way from her chest out through her throat. Hermione practically flew through the maze, unheeding the direction she was going, just desperate not to run directly into the most feared creature the labyrinth possessed.

Her tears blinded her as her hands stretched out ineffectively before her, hoping to spare her any harm. Often she hit into the stone walls of the labyrinth, heard the skittering noises of small creatures around her, but she was more concerned about the roaring monster that pursued her. Her breathing was ragged and strained, claustrophobia overtaking her. Gradually, the stones gave way to leaves and vines. She didn’t care a whit if she was stung by Tentacula; she wanted _out_ of this horrid place. 

Round and round so many corners, she knew she’d never find her way back and was thankful for that, at least, when her luck finally ran out. Hermione stumbled to the ground at the sight of what Malfoy had called The Beast. Standing twice as tall as a man, taller even than Hagrid, was a Minotaur, snarling down at her. Long, curled horns grew from out the crown of his bull head. His body was covered from head to hooves in thick, matted brown fur, coarse yet bald in patches. The beast’s back was hunched forward, his massive hands empty and spreading wide above her, as though meaning to lurch and capture her in his horrible claws. 

Fear ripped a horrendous scream from Hermione’s throat. The Beast took a step back, the stone walls that surrounded them shuddering, dust raining down upon her, temporarily blinding them both. Hermione took full advantage of the moment, scrambling to her feet and running in the direction from which she came. 

This was _not_ some creature she could simply outrun or confuse through too many twists and turns and backtracks through the maze. This was the master of the maze, the Minotaur, from Greek literature: the bastard son of Queen Pasiphae and a sacred bull. As her feet propelled her through the maze, hearing and feeling the charging Minotaur that followed close behind, her mind was elsewhere, rummaging quickly through all her mental catalogues, looking for of the story of the Minotaur of Crete and how he was defeated.

She hadn’t a sword. She didn’t even have a proper stick to defend herself. His roar was deafening and made her blood run cold. _Seven men and seven women… a sacrifice, every nine years… Theseus destroyed the Minotaur and used Ariadne’s string to find his way out again…_

Hermione’s only hope at this point was that she was suffering a concussion from falling, and that none of this was real; that the labyrinth was just a horrible nightmare from which she had yet to awaken. Otherwise, she was as good as dead. 

Hermione tripped over an exposed root and collapsed to the ground, heaving. The muscles in her legs were not up to such a run and they spasmed terribly. She sat up and clutched at her bleeding feet. A thorn the size of her thumb jutted out from her heel. She knew she had to remove it, and so she yanked it, hard, and cried out with pain. Water. She needed water to clean her feet, to wet her parched throat, but she was so tired and worn out, she almost wished the Minotaur would devour her now, just to get it over with. With ragged breath, she waited for him to appear, but nothing happened.

After a moment’s rest, her heart revisiting her chest cavity and keeping a much better pace, Hermione took a deep breath and stood up, determined this would not be her end. What she found surrounding her was unfathomable. The labyrinth was gone. All the stars and the moon were gone as well, replaced by trees, glorious, towering trees. An entire forest spread before her, unending and magnificent. All her pains were immediately forgotten as she slowly took in her surroundings, amazed and enchanted. 

Shuffling off the completely inappropriate admiration for the forest, Hermione ran to the first tree within reach and scoured the ground below for a weapon of sorts, anything that would suffice. Nothing lying upon the ground would do however, mostly nettles and small twigs that wouldn’t threaten a bowtruckle, much less an enraged, hungry Minotaur. Hermione glanced up. There was nothing for it; she’d have to climb. 

Her quivering legs weren’t up to the task, but she forced herself to do it anyway. Several attempts later, more bruised and bloodied than before, her hands and calves burning with new scratches down their lengths, Hermione began to lose her momentum and determination.   
“If only I had a wand,” she lamented, “I wouldn’t need the… blasted… tree branch. I could… just… conjure a sword, or,” she huffed out a breath as she fastened her grip on the trunk, at last making headway. “Or actually, I could just… Incarcerate the …damn thing.” Her anger gave her the much-needed strength and soon she was throwing her leg over a branch. Hermione leaned forward to cling to the branch for dear life, heaving and coughing a bit. She had never considered herself out of shape before coming to this place, and now she avowed that if – no, when she made it back home, she would definitely find ways to add exercise into her schedule.

Soft and chilling, a noise like a door slowly creaking open could be heard. Hermione was instantly on guard, lifting herself into a sitting position, her back to the tree trunk. She scanned the area below, searching for the origin. The skin on her back began to crawl in anticipation, so she edged ever closer to the trunk, debating whether to continue up or possibly crawl over into the branches of the neighbouring tree. Having not yet come to a decision, Hermione turned towards the trunk and screamed.

The tree was screeching back at her, exposing its jagged, limestone teeth. Tiny blue flames that emanated no heat illuminated its eye sockets. Quickly, the branches plunged from every direction to grab a hold of her, ripping her tattered shift as she struggled. Hermione used her feet to kick the tree monster in the face, in its eyes, avoiding as best she could any contact with those stone teeth. In her struggle, she fell nearly fifteen meters, knocking the wind out of herself when she landed. 

Before she could even consider sorting herself out, a thousand hands were upon her.

She hadn’t the breath to scream, otherwise she would have. Dozens of hands clawed at her, they were human-like, not clawed, but definitely not welcome. She struggled to breathe when she recognized the corpse-like monstrosities that were dragging her away from the tree base. Slimy white hands gripped her like Death itself, tugging her in every direction. Great, yawning mouths breathed dirt and decay down into her face as Hermione struggled against the Inferi. Their eyes were blank and filmy, blinded in death, yet somehow they could see her and follow her every pathetic attempt at escape. 

Hermione crawled, managing barely a foot before another corpse was upon her. She lost all control of her emotions, opening crying and gagging, moaning out her horror. She grasped at anything, anything within reach, to use as a weapon, coming up with only stones, which only seemed to stall the Inferi, clearing the way for another to come after her instead. 

“Help!” she senselessly cried out. Very few things reduced Hermione to a useless mess, but Inferi was at the top of that list. They could be beheaded, she recalled, her mind spinning desperately for a solution. They were afraid of fire. Neither of which she was capable of doing at this moment. Inferi were conjured up by very strong dark magic, and she did not believe they were cannibals. At least, she couldn’t recall having ever read otherwise. Still, nothing was as it ought to be in this place, so she could very well be wrong. 

Dead wrong, in fact.

The woods surrounding Hermione grew brighter, infused with a warm glow that generated so much heat that she eventually could feel the warmth before she heard the roar. A fire had been set, eating away at the Inferi on the outskirts of the circle that confined her. The piercing shrieks of the dead shot up through the branches, no more escaping the fire than their creators. Hermione broke free from the hold of two of the Inferi as they caught fire, but one still clung tightly to her thigh, pulling her ever closer to his burning torso.

Through the smoke, Malfoy leapt, tucking his wand into the slack waistband of his pants before thrusting both hands down to lift her up and out. Without a thought, she accepted and together they searched for a break in the fire. The flames roared to life, feeding on the corpses and the underbrush, the leaves and twigs, empowering the fire as it flourished. There was no path to take, so Malfoy employed his wand again to push the fire aside, creating a doorway through the flames. They ran, hand in hand, through the small opening, and Hermione allowed Malfoy to lead the way again.

“I saw --” Hermione choked, the smoke having filled her lungs. A coughing fit began, causing her to stop, unable to breathe or move. Swiftly, Malfoy lifted her beneath her knees, curled her arm around his neck, and continued forward, wasting very little time. From this vantage point, she could see the woods were not truly separated from the labyrinth, but had, apparently, grown up around and within it. As they ran further away, she noticed the transition of tree to bush back to stone walls. 

She had never been free.

Hermione succumbed to the darkness that threatened her then. A roll of thunder echoed in her ears.


	6. Part VI

Her body ached all over and as she slowly began waking, she desperately clung to oblivion. Thunder rolled overhead, startling her so badly that she jerked up, knocking into Malfoy, who had been hovering. "I thought..." she started, panting, her eyes scanning the area. They were in another shelter of sorts, what looked to have once been a room. The walls were bare, plain; there were splintered poles, like gardening tools. On second glance, Hermione determined they were in a shed and wondered how in the world a shed came to be found within a labyrinth.

Lightning flashed and she could clearly see the worry on Malfoy's face, then it all came back to her. Hermione reached for him, pulling him down as much as pulling herself up, and kissed him.

"You saved my life," she cried into his neck, clinging. The shock was overwhelming. Her hot breath bounced back into her face, making her feel clammy. Malfoy wrapped his arms around her back, and rocked her slightly, side to side. She pulled back some, but he held on, and two more tears slid from her squeezed shut eyes. From her vantage point, Hermione watched the rain fall like a grey curtain, shielding them from every terror but the ones within them both. A moment passed, then Malfoy let her pull away, swiping at the snot and tears with alternate hands. When she felt more composed, she said, “I saw it. The Beast.”

Malfoy stared back at her, unmoving. Because he neither spoke nor moved away, his hands resting heavily on her thighs, she related her story in a quiet voice.

“Malfoy,” she held his hand loosely as she finished. “The Beast… it’s a Minotaur.”

Malfoy continued to look at her, blinking now and then. His silence frightened her, not knowing what exactly he meant by it. Or what could follow. Something was very, very wrong.

His eyebrows netted together and at last, he spoke. “Why did you leave me?”

She waited; confused by his question and the way he was watching her. She examined him in the dim light. He looked lost, vulnerable. She recalled how different he looked a few short hours ago from now, how demented he was as he attacked the centaur. And her, too. It would do absolutely no good to question him about it, she could tell. Malfoy was a master manipulator on a good day. Here, however, she was never sure what to expect from him from day to day. If that was his game now, then she would not play along by acting the shrew.

However, if he truly did not recall any of the incident, if he had somehow blocked the altercation from his mind, then bringing it up now could only distress him further. And she had already seen enough of a disturbed Draco Malfoy.

Hermione took a deep breath and patted his hand. “Thank you for saving my life.”

He gave a small smirk as he threaded their fingers together. “You seem to be saying that quite often these days.”

They both laughed, breaking the tension that hung in the air, heavier than the humidity. Hermione folded her legs under her but Malfoy stood, walking towards the doorless opening. He peered up at the sky the stretched his arm out into the rain, his gourd catching what it could. When it was nearly full, he brought it back to her, sat down so close that their shoulders rubbed, and silently offered her a drink. Greedily she gulped the water down, which was refreshingly cool. She passed it back to him, but he declined, encouraging her to drink the rest. As she did, she wished she could stand out in the rain and wash away all the pain and terror, the stench of the dead off her skin. Or, perhaps she could melt away in the downpour, becoming just another drop of rain, gathering into a current, sloshing down the passages of the labyrinth until there was nothing left of herself.

Malfoy stared at her. “What’s the last thing you remember?” He asked, his elbows resting upon his knees.

Hermione blinked. “I just said…”

“No, no. Before…before you were here.”

She considered him for a moment. “I remember,” she began, thinking slowly. “Searching… with Harry and Ron, for…” 

She stopped abruptly. Even though she had become dependent upon him, owed him her life many times over, and so far she believed she could trust him with her life, this was still Draco Malfoy. Anything was possible. She had to use caution. As she tried to recall when she last saw them, Malfoy watched. Heat suffused her face and she hoped he thought it was just from the pressure and nothing more. 

They had been hunting Horcuxes, as she remembered, when the ambush struck near dawn. Snatchers ripped them from the tent, knocking over a lantern, setting off a fire within. She remembered seeing a groggy Harry flapping about for his glasses and his wand, and Ron, as he roared and tackled one of the men. What she hadn’t seen was the man who grabbed her from behind, yanking her up and out, despite her frantic kicks. Hermione supposed her friends saw her, but what could they do? They were greatly outnumbered. Hermione bit down as hard as she could, drawing blood from her captor, who cursed and flung her to the ground. She scrabbled back towards the tent, wandless and frantic. Her worn pyjamas were little protection against the snow. She heard the zing of magic and felt the impact, then nothing.

For a long time, there was nothing, apparently, because the next thing she remembered was fragmented and faint – flashes of a green dungeon, putrid water filling her nose and mouth, gagging her, then Death Eaters hovering in a corner, watching but saying nothing. She remembered being cold, and hungry, and afraid. There were beatings, those she remembered easily enough. However, through it all, there was never a sign of either Harry or Ron.

“And then I woke up here,” she whispered, staring down at her bare feet, a chill running through her that had nothing to do with the rain. Not for the first time, she wished they could have had a fire. Or, even second hand, ratty school robes. 

Thinking of Hogwarts actually hurt, down to the bottom of her empty stomach. She wondered what had become of her old school, her professors. Her friends, especially. If Ron or Harry knew where she was, they would be here as well, rescuing her, or trying to, at least. The thought that they could very well be dead was unbearable and intolerable. No, they were looking for the Horcruxes, every day closer to ending Voldemort. She was absolutely certain. The alternative was simply impossible. 

She looked at Malfoy. His mouth looked sealed shut, pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed and directed at her. He knew she left out the important stuff, but she didn’t care. What happened to her, specifically, before she arrived was none of his concern. It wouldn’t help either of them to get out of here alive, so she kept it to herself. Although, had their roles been reversed, she would have wanted to know every shred of information, pertinent or not, because it just _might_ help. 

Hermione thought about the Minotaur and the story of Theseus replayed in her memory. So many stories and legends she had read in the Muggle world were ultimately true in the Wizard world. She sighed. “Where are we?” she asked herself.

“I think,” Malfoy whispered, barely louder than the soft thunder. “This is my father’s house.” Hermione turned to stare at him, surprised yet silent. “There have been…things. Things that resemble …” 

His voice drifted away, leaving Hermione with more doubts and fears than she would have thought possible.

*

Malfoy’s eyes began to droop, so she decided anything worth asking him about his cryptic revelation could wait until he rested. Not long after, she believed he was asleep, slumped partially against her shoulder and against the back wall of the shed, facing the falling rain. His white-blond hair obscured his face and she gently tucked it back behind his ear. Even in his sleep, Malfoy seemed to find no peace.

Hermione wasn’t tired, although she considered resting. It wasn’t often that they seemed to find reprieve from the monsters that stalked the labyrinth, but it was those very monsters she feared would find them here, now, and so sleeping was out of the question for her. Besides, Malfoy obviously needed it more than she did, so she acted as sentry, keeping one eye on the doorway and the other on her companion.

She took the opportunity to study him, as she’d been denied before. He was much thinner than she was, ribs clearly defined in his abdomen, and his arms looked thin and weak. Both Malfoy and Harry had been Seekers in school, and although Harry had played for more years than Malfoy, she expected them both to have had similar builds, lean and strong. Malfoy looked as though the blustering storm could blow him away. She knew he was stronger than he appeared, though, considering how he had defended them and saved her on more than one occasion. 

She avoided looking at his Mark.

Hermione glanced about the shed, looking for Malfoy’s wand. The tip was jutting out from his waistband, like usual, and she itched to pluck it out. More often than not, his wand had failed them, but twice he had managed to conjure up fire when it was needed the most, the last time not that many hours ago. Would it work for her just as well, she wondered. 

Malfoy never said how he had found her, she noted. It was possible that he could have discovered where she was from her screaming, but that was such a remote possibility, she disregarded it a moment later. She tried to calculate the probability of him taking the exact path she had, leading into the faux wood, but that was even less likely than her previous thought. How, then, had he found her? The time apart was too long for him to have followed closely behind, she knew, but the timing was nearly perfect, rescuing her from the swarm of Inferi.

The answer lay within his wand, of course.

Carefully, very carefully, Hermione withdrew Malfoy’s wand from his britches, inch by slow inch, watching his face for any reaction and completely ignoring the doorway. It felt like years had passed before it was nearly free. Her heart stopped once when his eyebrows furrowed together and his hands twitched before settling back into deep sleep. 

When she held the wand in her hand, a tingle ran through her arm and throughout her body. The zing of magic made her feel whole, alive, and for the first time since being lost in this labyrinth, hopeful. 

She did not waste time testing the wand with trivial fetes. At any moment, Malfoy could wake up, and despite the truce and peace that had formed between them during these last few hours, having his wand would, without a doubt, cause a disruption. No, instead she acted on her suspicions. 

Hermione hefted Malfoy’s wand in the precise position and whispered, “Prior Incantato!”

At first, nothing happened. The rain outside began to ebb along with her excitement and hope. Then she felt it, a small vibration of the wood against her palm, followed by thick grey smoke. It took Hermione a second or two to distinguish the ghost flames from the smoke of the spell, and then the phantom fire faded. She tried to recall what spells she had seen Malfoy accomplish recently, but could only think of the two incidents of Incendio – the Inferi and the bugs, which seemed like a lifetime ago. The wand vibrated again and thicker smoke emerged. The shape was much larger than the flames had been, and rather indecipherable. Slowly, they the smoke took form, roiling in on itself. It was quite difficult to process what the smoke was trying to convey, but it looked like a body, a person; no one she knew, but still, somehow, familiar.

The smoke continued to take shape. Multiple shapes, in fact. Horror-struck, Hermione’s jaw dropped as she finally comprehended what emerged from Malfoy’s wand. She dropped the wand with a sob, not bothering to cover her mouth to keep from waking him. Instinctively, she ran out into the slowing rain and screamed out her frustrations. Her eyes were clenched as tightly as her fists and she roared, uncaring who or what might hear her. The urge to break something was great. Her eyes shot open and she looked about for something, anything, to vent her rage – a rock, a stick, anything whatsoever.

What she found utterly shocked her.

The mighty walls that had imprisoned her for countless days seemed to shift, to blend and blur. Hermione rubbed at her eyes, swiping at tears and rain, and looked again. She assumed her anger caused her to hallucinate, for she was almost positive that the walls were completely transparent. She could see open, charred land all around her, peppered by split trees and debris, as if a tornado had ripped across the land some time ago. She spun about, back towards the shed, not knowing what to expect. The shed was still there, as it appeared before she took Malfoy’s wand, but it was not the only building in view.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, staring ahead at what once was a stately home. It was more shell than house now. As the clouds dissipated, the fading light barely illuminated the rubble. Bricks and stones were flung about the ground like tinker toys. Entire walls were missing in places, exposing the interior to the elements, apparently for some time, judging by what she could make out at that distance. The charred land that stretched between the shed and the former house glittered with shards of glass. Everything was blackened and dead. 

The image began to fade and she frantically rubbed at her tired eyes, but it was no use. The walls grew opaque much faster than they disappeared. Her breathing increased along with her heartbeat as she spun about and found Malfoy leering at her in the doorway. She choked on a frightened sob. A thousand questions raced through her brain but she couldn’t utter a single one. 

Looking at Malfoy, she knew she didn’t need to.

Malfoy bowed his head, his long blond hair a curtain between them, and then he started towards her. Without thinking, she met his steps in retreat. He stopped, his head jerking up at her withdraw, his grey eyes questioning. Hermione felt the tears spill over onto her cheeks again. She ran away.

Even though he didn’t call her name, she knew he pursued. Frantically she ran, heedless of what could possibly appear before her, more terrified of what chased her. Right, right, and then left; dead-end and back in double time. Hermione darted down the corridors. Behind her, she could hear Malfoy curse, having likely reached the same dead-end she had just left. Adrenaline pumped through her system, giving her extra speed, but she knew he could hear her just as easily and she was certain he would catch her. 

Round the corner to the left and she stumbled over her own feet. A doorway, empty, with two blazing torches holstered on either side loomed before her, both frightening and inviting. With only a second to deliberate, Hermione ran, reaching for a torch at the final second, and then changing her mind. It would be too obvious, and too easy for Malfoy to find her. She knew this labyrinth was his doing, but she could only guess what his endgame would be.

Using her trembling hands as guides, she felt her way into the darkness. Either her eyes were deceiving her, or there was a light up ahead. Sure enough, another torch presented itself. This time, she did take it, making her way much faster into the abyss. The corridor was very close and suffocating, seemingly growing tighter as she hurried along. Sound did not travel well in here, she realized, which meant he hopefully wouldn’t find her. It also meant she had no idea where he was.

Just then, she heard the roar of the Minotaur and her heart stopped. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

She felt the hand clamp down on her mouth before she heard Malfoy. Hermione kicked and bit, forcing him to pinch and wrench her back around a corner, away from her fallen torch. “Shut up, or we’re dead!” he hissed into her ear.

Hermione stopped squealing and focused all her energy into freeing herself, and if she happened to disfigure Malfoy in the process, then so be it. She gave it her best, stepping on his in-step, flapping her arms and using her elbows to jab him where she could. He held her against his abdomen, where she could feel his wand. Hermione redoubled her efforts and managed to free herself just as the Minotaur roared again, this time much, much too close. 

The moment was exactly what she needed. Malfoy only realized she was swiping his wand at the final second, making a grab for it, and nearly knocking Hermione off her feet. Malfoy snarled at her and she growled in response. 

Hermione shrieked, “Let go, Malfoy! I’m tired of playing your _sick, twisted games_!”

“If you don’t shut your mouth, you ignorant Mudblood, you’re going to kill us both!”

“Ha!” she barked, adjusting her grip on his wand. The sweat of her palms was fighting against her. “That’s rich, coming from you!” He managed to give her a quizzical look while struggling for dominance. “Considering this is all your doing!”

“What the he-” Malfoy was cut off by the appearance of a large hoof crashing down not ten meters away. She saw the horror in his wide eyes and slack face. His grip on the wand also went slack as he slowly stepped backwards. Hermione glanced over her shoulder, confirming what she believed he had seen, and then turned back to him. An idea came to her.

“Malfoy, Malfoy! You can control this – fight back!” she said, adjusting her hold on the wand and keeping it poised before her, just in case. Malfoy’s forehead wrinkled in confusion or possibly disbelief. He had at least heard her, then, if he didn’t actually respond. Hermione took three steps to counter his backward ones, reaching with her left hand to touch his shoulder in a comforting gesture. He focused on her. “Concentrate. Make it go away.”

“What?”

Hermione tucked his wand behind her ear, securing it within her ratty hair, and placed both hands on his cheeks as she pulled his face down towards her, hoping to block out the Minotaur, which had fully appeared by then. The Beast snorted, rearing behind her. She could practically see the monster through Malfoy’s panic. “Malfoy,” she tried again. “Listen! You are the only one who can defeat this, but you have to try, dammit!”

Malfoy snorted in fear, or possibly disbelief. He snatched her hand from off his face and made them run deeper into the tunnels. 

“Wait, no! You’re not listening to me!”

“Granger, if we don’t run, if you don’t shut your gob and move your arse, we are both as good as dead!” He began muttering to himself, never loosening his grip on her wrist, despite her best efforts to break away. Hermione awkwardly reached for his wand and cast Stupefy and he fell like a rock. Her magic through his wand was weak and he was back on his feet after a short moment. “You’re the mad one, Granger! Give me back my wand!”

“No! You have to – stop it! Let go! Malfoy, please!”

The pair wrestled for the wand, resorting to bites and kicks, but Hermione barely managed to hang on to it, all the while attempting to tell him what she had discovered. Their wills conflicted as much as their bodies, causing the wand to go off like a firecracker, illuminating the tunnel with a rainbow of colours and reigning down sand from above. Neither was surprised when the Minotaur found them again, this time charging at full speed. However, both were shocked when Hermione flew into the air and slammed against the far wall, some distance away. The cracking sound when she hit was sickening, but the sight of her crumpled, unmoving body was far worse.

Malfoy stared at her for several seconds, the Minotaur momentarily forgotten, and then he turned back to the beast, nostrils flared and eyes hooded. With a terrible scream, he retrieved the fallen wand and charged the Beast. Malfoy’s arm swung left and right, sending a barrage of spells towards the monster, all seemingly ineffectual against its rough hide, some deflecting off its horns. 

The mighty roar of the Minotaur awoke Hermione, who raised herself up on one shaky arm and hissed in pain. She watched as Malfoy took on the Minotaur in a blind rage, as his spells were no use against the beast, and gasped when he resorted to physical combat. She tried to call his name, but the wind had been knocked from her. All she could do was watch in horror as Malfoy and the Minotaur fought to the death. She struggled to rise again, this time making it to her knees, so she crawled towards them, taking shallow breaths. The pain in her chest was sharp and she was almost certain she had cracked a rib or two, but she refused to stop. She had to help him.

The entire tunnel shook from their combat, making it even more difficult for her to breathe as more and more dust showered down. There was only one torch close enough, but it failed to reach where they were. She relied entirely on the sounds of the skirmish, the yowls of pain and howls of rage. A minute passed as she tried to stand and eventually was able to cling to the wall. Hermione found her voice, but she wasn’t as loud as the horrifying whine that erupted from the darkness.

Hermione’s heart banged against her broken ribs in a frantic rhythm. She was too late, she knew it. Malfoy had succumbed to his innermost fears. The Minotaur had finally destroyed him.

“M-Malfoy?” Her broken voice echoed through the tunnel and was not answered. Soon, though, she heard heavy breathing and she waited, watching, hoping she was wrong. When nothing charged out towards her, she bravely took another step, then another, still heading towards where the final battle had occurred. Glancing sideways, Hermione snatched the torch from the wall and thrust it before her, flooding the corners with a yellow-orange glow. The light fell upon a crumpled Malfoy, curled almost into a ball, facing away from her. There was no sign whatsoever of the Minotaur and she wasn’t surprised. “Malfoy…”

The closer she got, the clearer Malfoy’s murmurings grew. With a great deal of pain and patience, Hermione managed to kneel beside him, listening. Her heart broke for him, as he said, “Wasn’t real. Wasn’t real…”

Her trembling hand settled on top of his damp, sweaty head and he jerked away. She fell backwards onto her bottom as Malfoy spun about, prepared to fight some more, his fists in the air. He lowered them slowly, both staring at one another for what felt like forever, and then he quietly asked, “What’s happened to me, Granger?”

Hermione huffed out a tremulous breath, her chest in so much pain she doubted she had the strength to explain everything to him at the moment. She met his watery eyes. He needed to know, deserved to know the truth. In a timid voice, she tried her best. “Do,” she cleared her throat, clutched at her side and swallowed back the pain. “Do you remember… Can you tell me… how you got here?”

Malfoy slowly nodded, never taking his eyes off her. She didn’t dare touch him in this state; so instead, she wrapped her arms about her stomach and tried to steady her breathing. She waited for him to tell his tale.

He buried his hands within his long, sweaty locks, tugging and yanking on the ends until his knuckles turned bright white against his bloodied hands. Then he spoke, barely louder than a whisper, but she heard him all the same.

“The Dark Lord – he … I’d been chosen, by him. My parents were so… proud.” His voice was shuttered, breaking now and again as his tongue tried to keep pace with his mind. “Throughout the year, I tried to find a way. It became less about trust and more about desperation. The longer it took, the worse it became for them. My Mother…” 

His hands slipped free of his hair and fell limply into his lap, his eyes staring at the ground that lay between them, remembering. “I let them in,” he said. “And they came. But I couldn’t do it, I -” he broke off on a sob, folding down towards his knees. Hermione fought against the urge to comfort him, knowing he had to do this on his own. Although she knew what he was saying, she had never heard such details before, because no one but Draco Malfoy could have known them. Her chest ached and she rubbed her fist against the pain.

Malfoy swiped at his running nose and spoke over the lump in his throat. “My parents…He was there, in our home, had taken over everything. He – he killed them, I think,” he finished quietly. Together they sat for a long moment during which he couldn’t speak, lost to his own gruesome recollections. There was no need for him to go on; the end of his story was easy enough for Hermione to guess.

“Let me help you.” Hermione cleared her throat and repeated her offer, finally gaining his attention. When he stared across at her, she saw a lost child, afraid of the dark inside himself. It was no surprise, considering how much of that darkness had overtaken his life and hers. Slowly, she reached for the forgotten wand with one hand, and his spiritless hand with the other, while never breaking their gaze. She whispered, “Legilimens.”

Instantly, she was thrust within the mind of Draco Malfoy. It was worse than traveling by Floo, tumbling and falling through diaphanous matter as sticky as cotton candy. She knew she would never fully be free of these things, these memories of a tortured young man. With tremendous effort, she focused her search for what Malfoy had not said aloud and found it very quickly. 

The scene before her was so vivid, she could have sworn under Veritaserum she had actually been there. They were standing in the parlor, all three Malfoys, before Lord Voldemort, who was leisurely sitting at the far end of the room, the blazing fire behind him casting him in shadows. She stood next to Draco and heard the hissing voice of the darkest wizard to ever live as he Stupefied the youngest Malfoy. Her heart clenched in her chest with the anxiety he felt as Voldemort then began to torture his parents. Their skin burst open in long, ghastly slashes, gushing blood that spilt in an arch across the marble floor. Both were utterly powerless to his attack, and eerily silent, too, she noticed. Hermione watched in horror as their bodies continued to be sliced open with ever slash of his wand. Soon there was more tissue, organs and blood on the outside of their bodies than what remained within. Saliva pooled in Hermione’s mouth, even though she was unable to relieve herself.

As his parents were slowly reduced to mere slivers of human beings, Draco Malfoy endured silently, unable to close his eyes, to break free from Voldemort’s hold on him. His only refuge was within, but Voldemort anticipated that. As Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy exhaled their final, laboured breaths, he turned to the boy standing beside her and silently cast another spell, one Hermione could only presume manifested the mental labyrinth Draco’s mind produced in order to protect him from such horrors. One that Voldemort made corporeal and then reversed the notion of sanctuary Draco’s subconscious had intended.

Having found what she was looking for, Hermione lifted Malfoy’s wand and aimed it directly at his mutilated parents. She had to swallow a few times before she managed to utter the spell, but at last, she did. “Obliviate.”

The parlour fire died down, darkening the scene before her, the shadows overtaking every speck of light, leaving her in complete obscurity. With a mental lurch, she withdrew from his mind. The tunnel was gone, replaced by a room quite similar to the one she had previously departed. Only one wall remained, the area where the others once stood exposed to the night and the elements. Rubble surrounded them, as though an explosion had been set off in this long ago room. She was certain this was the very parlour from his memory by the cold marble that spread in cracked and shattered bits beneath them. 

Malfoy was still holding her hand, but no longer holding her stare. Instead, he looked about ready to succumb to exhaustion. Hermione let him. She coaxed him to curl up against her lap and sleep. Quietly, so as not to disturb this highly traumatized young man, she sent her Patronus off into the night, summoning help from Remus Lupin.

Her entire body was trembling and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the cold night air. Hermione curled over Malfoy’s depleted body, knowing exactly how he felt, and cried for him. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she promised, despite knowing how unlikely such a thing was. Even so, Hermione desperately clung to hope. For both of their sakes.


End file.
